“Unsurprising. He’s new on the job—he’s got the zeal. But don’t worry. He may be in charge of the rest of your life, but only after I’m done talking.” She approached the one Spock had called Ghalka. “That battlesuit is your home, Green-Five, from this day forward—powerful and self-sustaining. You will breathe, if you need to. You’ll receive nourishment and fluids, if you need them.”
Circling Ghalka’s battlesuit, Kormagan proudly pointed out features. “The biopacks mounted to your sides and in the cavity of your chest protector constantly recycle the solids, liquids, and gases you expel—transforming them into the compounds you need to survive. The radiations of the nebula are nothing against you. As long as your onboard generator functions, you will live.” She walked back to the center of the group. “We have inducted members of more than a dozen different species into our ranks, and never yet has an individual died because of armor rejection.”
Behind her, the new subaltern piped up again. “Quite a few have died from my rejection, after they have failed me. Do not be one of—”
“That’s enough, Baladon!” Kormagan looked back. “I just said they weren’t yours yet.” At her mention of the name, the subaltern’s canopy recessed into his armor, revealing the Lurian’s rubbery face. Kormagan glared at him. “Why did I promote you?”
“Because of my results on Corva Mundu, Wavemaster.” He smiled toothily. “And because you traded my superior to Wave Five-Five-Three for an isolinear chip rack.”
“That probably made sense at the time.” Kormagan faced the recruits. “Baladon is Green-One, your subaltern. Not a mere squad leader: a teacher, a liaison with command.”
Spock studied Baladon. “I am aware of your people. The Lurians—of the Ionite Nebula.”
“That was before,” Baladon said. “I never would have believed it, but it only took weeks for me to realize the Boundless are everything my own people were not. You will discover the same thing.” Baladon faced the captives and scowled. “Unless you fail me and I kill you.”
“Save it for the Enemy,” Kormagan said. She liked a little exuberance, but she liked his example more. “Baladon was a pirate captain, running some of the least competent people ever to make it into space. But even some of them have prospered with us. Because here, you only need to be able to count to five.”
Baladon shouted, “Five soldiers to a squad! Five squads to a transport module! Five modules to a carrier! Five carriers to a wave!”
“Your first drill,” Kormagan said.
“Six hundred twenty-five to a wave,” Spock observed.
“Joy,” Baladon growled. “I have a Federation scientist to command.”
“Three,” the blond-haired male said.
The Lurian gawked—before his head sank a little into his armor. “Three scientists,” he said mournfully. “Another promising career destroyed at the start.”
Spock looked to Kormagan. “If we are Wave Five-Three-Nine,” Spock said, “that would seem to suggest a much larger force.” His eyes narrowed. “But you refer to other units by two digits.”
“It’s because there are no survivors of the first five hundred waves.”
Spock’s head tilted. “They exceeded their life spans?”
“I’ll say.” Baladon guffawed. “Once you hit the battlefield, you’ll find out why.”
“Battlefield?” Malce moaned. “What are you talking about? I’m a financial examiner!”
Puzzled, Kormagan looked back to Baladon. “What does that mean?”
“Money.”
“That.” Kormagan chuckled. “The Boundless manufacture only four things. Battlesuits, starships, and munitions are three. If you survive and become too old to fight, due to your species’ infirmity, you will wind up building them. And you will survive, because we are very good at manufacturing the fourth thing: troopers. You now are raw materials, nothing more—until you prove to us you are something else.”
Kormagan had given variations of this speech innumerable times. Some beings responded well. Others, with fear—like Malce—or discomfiture, like the Andorian, Ghalka. Seeing her had jogged Kormagan’s memory of capturing Andorians years earlier, on another operation. Ghalka looked to Spock. “Lieutenant, what are we going to do?”
“One thing is you’re going to stop using that word,” Kormagan said. “Know this: all your obligations to previous hierarchies are broken. You will not defer to others, or refer to them by their old titles. You are of the Five-Three-Nine—that is status enough for any being. Master and slave, captain and warrior, president and peon are equal in the ranks of the Boundless.”
“Just don’t get the idea that includes you and me,” Baladon said, grinding his armored fist into his hand.
“I need my medication,” Malce said. “I can’t stay in this thing!”
“What you four were wearing when you were recruited is in compartment seven in your backpack gear,” Kormagan said. “We fit armor to people—we don’t have time to be their tailors. Any personal effects or devices you had are in there too. Except weapons, of course—and communicators. Neither would do you any good.” She faced Malce. “If you have a medical need our sensors haven’t picked up, talk to Jayko. Our armorer can add it to the compounds your unit is synthesizing for you.”
Across the way, another silo descended into the deck, revealing four other battlesuited figures, all immobile. Spock recognized another science officer, Godwin, as well as two more Antarans. Kormagan looked back at them. “Looks like I have another speech to give. If there are no more questions—”
“Many,” Spock said.
“Two.”
His eyes narrowed. “It was the Boundless who fired a torpedo at Enterprise four months ago.”
Baladon laughed. “No, that was me.”
“You fired it for the Boundless.”
“No—during my old career. We captured ships for profit. The Boundless do it because they are born to do so and are exceedingly good at it. If they had fired, it would have struck you.”
“What’s your other question?” Kormagan asked.
“I get two,” Spock said. “There was not an interrogative in that sequence. I advanced an incorrect theory.”
“You got information.”
“From Baladon, not you.”
Baladon chortled. “You’ve caught yourselves a Vulcan,” Baladon said, rubbing the back of his head. “This will be an experience.”
“What,” Spock asked, “is the enemy you spoke of?”
Kormagan lowered her voice. “The Rengru.” She shook her head. “You’re just going to have to see.”
“And why should we fight in your war?”
“Because it’s everyone’s war. It’s the right thing to do. And as for you specifically,” she said, stepping over to Spock, “you’ll fight because your battlesuits will make you.”
“As they did earlier, you mean.” Spock shook his head. “Illogical. We would be little more than robots.”
“If you were, it’d be a lot easier. Sadly, our AI technology isn’t advanced enough yet. Maximum unit efficiency requires a sentient operator. But if you’re reluctant, we can still make it charge the line.” She stared coolly at Spock. “We never run out of battlesuits—or recruits.”
She turned from him. “Oh, yes: some of you may be considering escape. We monitor your suits all the time. All deserters are assumed to be tainted by the Rengru, and incinerated as spies.” She stopped to pat Malce’s armor. “I’ll leave you to figure out how.”
Malce quivered, his eyes wide.
Spock spoke up as she started to walk away. “Perhaps there is an exchange I could make on behalf of my people—”
“They’re my people, Green-Two. We’re done here. Baladon’s your liaison now.”
Baladon called after her. “If you want better technology, ask them about Enterprise, and its secrets!”
“We’ll tell you nothing!” the wavy-haired human shouted.
“Lieutenant Connolly is correct,” Spock said.
&
nbsp; “I told you, enough with the titles,” Kormagan called over her shoulder. “And in due time, you’ll give me everything I want to know about Enterprise. And after that, you’ll help me take it. Willingly.”
19
* * *
U.S.S. Enterprise
Pergamum Nebula
Una found Pike where she expected to. The “observation deck” was really more of a wide hallway, with ports overlooking the hangar deck on one side and space on the other; with no operations involving shuttlecraft and not much to see while traversing cloud formations, the place had seen little traffic. Earlier in the mission, Enterprise’s first officer had used it herself, finding it a good place for reflection.
She had skipped her sessions ever since the ship departed Susquatane. The hunt for the attackers deserved her every spare moment. But it was a trail already cold when they set out. Day after day of fruitless searching had worn on everyone. The captain most of all.
“Congratulations, Number One.” Leaning against the port looking onto the hangar deck, Pike didn’t turn to face her. “You found me.”
She entered the room slowly. “I thought you would want to know—our engineers have completed the download from the Alpha probe.”
Pike looked at her. “You didn’t call me in?”
“You didn’t leave instructions to do so.”
He tilted his head. “That’s because I didn’t think we’d learn anything.”
“You were correct.”
“Right now, I hate being right.” He returned his gaze to the shuttle deck.
Number One approached him. “The probe only had a lock on the attacker for a few minutes. It’s been running blindly since.”
“No readings on the bogey?”
“It was flying through that muddle,” she said, gesturing to the sauce outside. “We got a better look at Essfive’s starships when they were shooting at us.”
“I guess we couldn’t have expected more.” He shook his head. “We should have left earlier. I mean, right away. Chased them down ourselves.”
Her brow furrowed. “You made the right decision, Chris. We had to see if anyone had survived. We couldn’t—”
“Bull.” Pike tapped on the port he was facing. “I could have left shuttlecraft here to check on the camps while we gave chase. Colt even volunteered.”
“And you could have lost her, and everyone with her, to a return by the attackers. We could only follow one ship.” Una turned around, leaning her back against the port so she could see Pike’s face. “Whatever we would’ve accomplished wouldn’t have been worth it.”
He gestured. “It would have been intel for Starfleet. Justice for the families. Retribution.”
“And whom would that have been for?”
“Revenge isn’t just for Klingons.” He pushed himself away from the port. “Hell, they still could have been Klingons, for all we know.” He took a deep breath. “Una, I just want to know why.”
She had no answer.
For several minutes, they remained silent. Pike meandered to the opposite wall, gazing out the port to the nebular gases outside.
She simply watched him—until he noticed her reflection in the pane. “You can stop looking at me at any time.”
“Is that an order?”
“Those Illyrians may have taught you a lot, but they can’t read minds.”
“You’re thinking of resigning your commission.”
“What?” Pike looked back. He shook his head vigorously. “Wow. No.”
She pursed her lips. “Hmm.”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that we have a long while before we reach the nebular boundary, which means we could have the same conversation for many days to come.”
“And you’d like to skip ahead to the point where I give you a different answer.”
“It would save time.”
“Time I could spend doing something more useful, like writing my memoirs.” Pike looked back out the port. “It wouldn’t be much of a read.” He exhaled. “How did you know?”
“Because I know how you felt after Rigel VII, when we lost people there. I was afraid you were going to resign right there. Then the Talos business happened.”
“A burn over a cut,” Pike said. “The cut doesn’t stop hurting.”
And neither does the burn. She suspected he had never stopped thinking about Talos IV and the mysterious woman he had met there, Vina. But the first officer had decided long before that the best way for their working relationship to go forward would be to allow Pike to bring her up.
Una stepped to the port—not beside him, but farther up the way, and looked out at the roiling blackness. “You’re committed to this?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Pike balled his fists. “I mean—here I was, thinking we’d been exiled, kept away from the one place where we might do some good: the war. Instead, we lost more than I imagined possible. So you tell me, Number One. Where am I supposed to be?”
She looked down. “I’m not in the destiny business. I evaluate orders. I thought your orders at Susquatane were correct—and I think your orders since then have been correct. We have followed the trail to its end. It remains to leave, to contact Starfleet as quickly as possible.”
He said nothing.
“In fact,” she said, “I think we should go back through the Acheron Formation.”
That got his attention. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“It makes sense.” She touched her cheek softly—in Illyrian culture, a microgesture of contemplation. “That’s where we were attacked with a torpedo—meaning it’s possible we might see our attackers there. We know it will save weeks on the return, weeks that could be important for Starfleet. And we did it before.”
“Yeah, but with Spock.” Pike left his vigil and approached her. “Galadjian farmed out the deflector attunements to him last time.”
“But we have a record of what they were—and if you don’t need me on the bridge, I can go down and take Spock’s place. Or oversee engineering while Galadjian makes the adjustments on the fly.”
“Maybe we should stick with little steps there.” Pike shrugged. “Well, there’s certainly no reason to be on the bridge. You’ve seen all the sights before.” He let out an exasperated chuckle. “Hell, I’d hide in a windowless room, if I could.”
“Hiding doesn’t work. You’ve taught a lot of cadets that.”
He exhaled. “Okay, I don’t know if I’m going to quit. But I am going to face the music—and that might be the same as quitting. I guess I don’t need to decide anything but the destination.”
“And then the destination will decide.” She nodded. “Starbase One—via the Acheron.”
He turned toward the door. As she walked at his side, he smiled gently. “We really are going in circles, aren’t we?”
She didn’t have a clever response—but then she was already busy calculating. She only had a limited time to think of a way to keep him from quitting, and she’d just moved her deadline up. A lot.
20
* * *
Troop Module Aloga-Five
Pergamum Nebula
“Bottom of the third. Jericho walks. Leary grounds to Connolly, force-out at second, six-four. Santis HBP, Leary to second. Tamerlin grounds to Connolly, double play, six-four-three—”
Spock looked up from his meditations. Across from him stood Connolly, uncovered blond head bowed turtle-like in his battlesuit. The man was mumbling. Spock spoke loudly to be heard over the troop module’s thrusters. “I do not understand you.” His instinct, to add “Lieutenant,” had been slapped out of both of them by Baladon’s sadistic attempts at puppetry. “I thought I heard you say your own name.”
Connolly looked up from his near trance, seeming to notice the rumbling of the transport for the first time. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Sorry—it probably didn’t make a lot of sense.”
“It did not.”
“I’m going over the l
ast ball game I played back home,” Connolly said, looking about in the darkness at the cramped surroundings of Green Squad’s drop bay. “It was our league final.”
“You remember a sporting event with such clarity?”
“We keep written records—a lot of them. I know it’s kind of arcane.”
“The same is done in chess.”
“Yeah. It helps me relax.”
“Then it is only important that you understand it,” Spock said. In truth, there had been many times in his life in which he had done the same thing. Reciting to himself the precepts of logic had helped him to organize his thoughts when they were the most chaotic.
Across from them, Ghalka was mouthing something too: aloga, vesht, dezik, krall, urdoh. The Boundless alphabet, or rather the part of it they had been told they needed to care about. Five call signs were all that had been drilled into their heads. They had been taught those, and how to move and fire their weapons—but little else.
It was baffling. “I didn’t think we’d be out here so fast,” Connolly said, looking about in agitation. “I thought I’d seen this story before—that they’d keep us in training longer, kind of like Starfleet.”
“The Boundless have no time to spare for that,” Baladon said, stopping for a sip of nutrient from his onboard feeder tube. “It’s all recruiting and dying with these people.”
“But at least they could show us what we’re up against!”
“That would be a mistake.” Baladon pointed downward to the drop chute doors. “You think you’re worried now? If you knew what you were heading toward, you’d be soiling yourself faster than your composting systems could handle!”
Spock looked to Malce. He was in the corner, staring into nothing. The Antaran hadn’t spoken in days, earning him Baladon’s wrath. The best news had been that despite Baladon’s threats, the Boundless did not believe in physically harming their recruits. Battlesuit operators were a precious resource, worth risk—significant risk, in the case of the Enterprise abductions. Baladon might batter them mentally and have them smash at one another’s armor, but that was the limit.
The Enterprise War Page 10